


despite everything i’m still human (but i think i’m dying here)

by turnandchasethewind



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:58:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnandchasethewind/pseuds/turnandchasethewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wishes she was surprised that she ended up here, but she knew the moment she left Camp Jaha this is where she would end up.</p>
<p>[Prompt: Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”]</p>
            </blockquote>





	despite everything i’m still human (but i think i’m dying here)

She trudges her feet through the mud and avoids the stares of the people around her. Murmurs of  _is that her?_  and  _she’s alive_ and  _Clarke of the Sky People_ swim around her. She ignores them, mainly because most of the hushed whispers aren’t true.

(She’s barely herself. She’s barely alive. She’s barely a sky person by this point.

She’s just breathing. That’s the best she can do on most days.)

Indra is the first to approach her, the only one with enough guts to draw her sword. “What are you doing here?”

There’s a heaviness inside of her that weighs her down, keeping her from putting up any kind of fight, “Is she here?”

Indra does not back down; if anything, she steps closer, sword still raised, ”You may be a legend now, but you will always be an outsider to me.”

”Your Commander - Lexa,” the name burns on the tip of her tongue, the first thing she’s felt in over a month, “She’s here, right? This is Polis?”

”Yes,” Indra slowly nods, “This is Polis-”

”Then please bring me to her.”

Indra pauses to study her. Clarke has nothing left to offer; she has nothing left to leverage, nothing left to give, nothing left to lose. She thinks this absolute shell of defeat that has replaced her body is what makes Indra lower her sword. She nods her head to the side, “This way.”

The walk isn’t long, but she would be used to it either way. It’s not like she’s had anything other than walking to do with herself on her journey. 

(She wishes she was surprised that she ended up here, but she knew the moment she left Camp Jaha this is where she would end up.)

They enter the tent and Lexa freezes on her throne. She avoids Clarke’s eyes and slowly rises, looking at the group of grounders huddled in the corner, “Gonot.” They glance between Lexa and Clarke and she clenches her fist over the end of her sword, “ _Gonot_.”

Indra waits until all of the grounders have left the tent before stepping forward. Lexa offers her a small nod and Indra returns it, turning to leave; she manages to pause and lean into Clarke as she passes, whispering in her ear, “If you do anything to harm her I will not hesitate to slit your throat and raise your head on a pike for all my people to see.”

Clarke barely blinks at the threat; the words go right through her.

(She’s been damaged by far worse things than a few letters strung together and thrown in her face.)

Lexa straightens up and takes a few steps forward, “You look well, Clarke.”

Her words spark more feeling that has been pushed under the surface for too many days to count. The under layer of her skin feels like it’s buzzing, “I don’t and you know it. Look at me,” she gestures towards herself and chokes back a sob, “I’m a mess.”

Lexa nods, stoic as ever, “Yes. But you’re alive.”

Clarke’s laugh echoes through the tent and slash through the mounting tension between them, “And what good is that at this point?”

”It is everything, Clarke.” Lexa steps forward and despite the part of her that regrets ever coming, Clarke matches her step until they are a foot apart. “It is everything for yourself, for your people.” She pauses, almost wavering, “For me.”

The words cut into her and she feels the parts of herself she’s pushed away for too long - hours, days, weeks - begin to pour out. “Don’t say those things to me. You know nothing about who I am now or what I’ve done.”

Lexa’s face softens; it’s quick and almost not perceivable, but Clarke sees it. “I do know.”

The buzzing beneath her skin permeates her veins and she can feel the bubbling rage she’s held inside start to shake her from head to toe. “Of course. The legends. You must have heard all about it by now, right? I heard about some through my travels - people who were venturing through the woods that I would eavesdrop from my camp.” She’s pressing forward and Lexa has nowhere to go but backwards, and Clarke wills herself to forget the last time they were in a similar position. “So tell me,  _Heda,_ ” Lexa is backed into her throne and Clarke keeps them an inch apart, her breath shallow, “Tell me the legend of  _Clarke of the Sky People_.”

Lexa remains still, her eyes flitting across Clarke’s face, “I do not need to tell you what you already know, Clarke.”

She can feel the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, “Tell me anyway.”

”You  _know_ , Clarke. Or at least the important part.”

”And what’s that? That I did the right thing? That I did what I had to do?” Her voice cracks as the final question passes her lips, “That I had no choice?”

“No, none of those.” Lexa licks her lips before taking a deep breath, “The only thing of relevance is that you would do it again if need be. For your people.”

The accusation cracks something inside of her and she feels like her knees are about to give out. The words coil inside of herself and awaken all the demons she has been trying to put to rest for far too long. They laugh at her - taunt her with images of hundreds of innocent bodies rotting around a dining room floor.

She stares at Lexa and she wants to scream - scream that she is wrong and out of line and completely off-base with who she is or what she would do.

But the tent remains blanketed with silence; deep down she knows that she would - she would do it again in a heartbeat and the admission makes her sick to her stomach.

(She never asked for any of this. She never wanted to make these decisions. She never wanted to be leader.

She never asked, she never asked, she never asked.)

She starts to shake and Lexa’s eyes flash with concern, “Clarke-”

“You didn’t see them, Lexa. You  _left_ and you didn’t see-” Her eyes widen and she bites hard enough on her lip to draw blood, “There were so, so many.” She can barely register Lexa’s hands bracing her arms up to stop her from collapsing, “Lexa, there were  _children_.”

“I know, I know.” She’s nodding along and Clarke has just now realized that she’s crying. Lexa’s hands are strong against her forearms, an anchor to keep her from being ripped away by the persistent thoughts that have haunted her since that day on the mountain. “I  _understand_ , Clarke. I have always understood.” Clarke hiccups through a sob and Lexa squeezes her arms tighter, “This is the duty we have. The cross that we bare.”

“Teach me.” Lexa looks at her in confusion and Clarke reaches up and roughly wipes at her face, “Teach me how to stop feeling.”

Lexa’s shoulders slump, “I cannot do that.”

The anger is back and forces her to roughly push off of Lexa, “Yes, you can! You go on about love being weakness and your complete apathy towards everyone-”

“Not everyone-”

She growls in frustration, “Yes, I know. I  _know_  - not  _me_. But what has that done for any of us lately?”

Clarke brings a shaky hand up to press to her temple and Lexa reaches forward to catch her by the wrist, “It has taught me that being a great commander does not have to be at the cost of my humanity. I can run the risk of feeling pain for the good of my people if it means I allow myself to care.”

The lump in Clarke’s throat is hard to swallow but she manages to choke out the words, “That’s it? We just endure the pain?”

“It is better than the alternative.”

“And what’s that?”

“Just surviving.” The words knock the wind out of her chest and Lexa steps forward again to offer her another hand of support. Clarke looks at her through watery eyes as she continues, “I believe we both found out that is no longer a viable option.”

"And yet you still left."

The words taste sour in her mouth, but she keeps her eyes trained on Lexa’s, noticing the brief flash of hurt across them. Lexa nods and visibly swallows, “I do not regret the decision I made on the mountain - I know it was the right one. But I also do not regret my feelings, especially mine for you. It does not need to be one or the other as it can be both. You taught me this,  _Clarke_  of the Sky People.” Lexa wets her lips, “And if you are still looking for a legend, then that is the only one worth telling.”

She freezes, the words rooting her to the spot. She is flesh and bark molding into one - she is carved out and hollow, Lexa’s words echoing inside the blank space where the girl she used to be once lived. The urge to feel something -  _anything_  - pushes down on her chest and it is all too much; it is too tight, too heavy, too suffocating. 

(Emptiness is supposed to feel light but she is still weighed to the ground.)

Lexa looks at her with all the patience in the world and something inside of her cracks, bones splintering and breaking through the tough skin she has weathered during her time away. She is falling apart and aching to put herself back together, but the only thing that makes sense is to reach up to cup Lexa's face and press into her with the only urgency this kind of world will allow. 

So many months she buried everything as deep as the holes she dug for those bodies, but now it is time to come down from the cross. It is time to step foot out of her tomb. It is time for the resurrection.

(And on the third day She rose again.)

She is done walking as a ghost. She is ready to feel. She is ready to feel  _her._

Lexa answers her prayer with the perfect balance of reservation and care, her lips sweeter than she last remembered. But Clarke is not here for reservation. She is here for rawness and desperation and wild. 

(She is here to feel alive.)

She fumbles with the top of Lexa’s pants and suddenly there is a strong grasp on her wrists, stopping her, ‘Clarke, we do not have to do this.”

“I want to,” she blinks back more tears and nods her head, “I  _need_ to. Okay?”

She waits for the confirmation - she is not about to rob any more things that are not hers for the taking - and finds it in Lexa’s nod. “Okay.”

Lexa releases her wrists and helps Clarke with her pants, their hands a jumbled mess of push and pulls in between rough kisses and laboured breathing.

(There are so many buckles and buttons and ties. Grounder clothing is not the most convenient.)

Clarke pushes her back into her throne and they manage to make enough room for her hand to slip inside - she doesn’t have the time to wait for them to bring Lexa’s pants all the way down. 

She wastes no time and Lexa gasps into her mouth when she finally manages to touch her. She is hot and wet under her fingertips and Clarke moans into Lexa’s mouth when she first feels her around her fingers.

Lexa manages to breathe her name out in between kisses - a steady, punctuated stream of  _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke_  - that spurs her to move her hand faster. With every second Lexa comes closer to becoming undone Clarke can feel herself start to feel whole.

(She doesn’t have to be the bad guy here, she can be the one to bring good. 

Lexa understands and maybe that’s more important than ever now.)

Clarke’s heart is racing and there is a throbbing ache between her legs but she can feel that Lexa is getting close. She leaves her with bruising kisses and frantic flicks of her wrist and in an instant there is a jerk of Lexa’s hips and she can feel her tense around her fingers. They’re both out of breath and Clarke slows her movements as she helps bring Lexa down from her high. Their kisses become lazy and languid as Clarke brings her hand out of Lexa’s pants. She goes to wipe her fingers but Lexa brings her hand up and licks them clean before leaning forward and giving Clarke another kiss. Her eyes flutter shut just at the feel of her on her tongue.

(It tastes _real_ , and she’s grounded with the fact that they’re both very much so here and breathing and alive.)

She pulls back and Lexa is slow to catch her breath, “That was...enlightening.”

Clarke’s chest heaves and she allows Lexa to hold onto her and help keep her upright, her body suddenly feeling the full extent of her exhaustion all at once. She places a sloppy kiss to Lexa’s neck and presses her forehead against her collarbone to rest for a moment, “Yeah. I’d say it was.”

She pulls back to see Lexa’s cheeks tinted pink, and Clarke suspects it’s not entirely all because she’s feeling hot. She straightens up, “Thank you, Clarke.”

"Wow, your people are very polite after sex.”

“It is in our customs, yes.”

Lexa’s face is shy and Clarke allows her some time to collect herself without being watched by looking down to reach forward and help her tie her pants back up. When she finishes she catches the hopeful expression in Lexa’s eyes and feels her throat close. “I can’t - I don’t know if I’m ready for...” she trails off and thinks of all the responsibility still sitting on her shoulders, “For whatever this means.”

Lexa nods, “Of course. But you are welcome to stay here, however long you wish. And I will keep whatever distance you need. I know that I hurt you deeply, Clarke, and I respect the space you may need because of that.”

She thinks of wandering the world weighed down by her emptiness, but she’s blinded by how light she felt the moment she stepped into this tent and allowed herself to feel. 

(She’s tired of punishing herself.)

Lexa moves to shift out from under her but Clarke brings her hand up to cup her cheek, “Hey, listen. This doesn’t mean that this is nothing. It just means I need slow, okay?”

There’s a hint of a smile as Lexa nods, “Whatever you please.”

“Thank you. Honestly.” Clarke brings her hand down and sighs out, shrugging her shoulders helplessly, “I guess so much has happened that I’m just ready to say to Hell with it, you know?”

“Not particularly, Clarke. Our people do not believe in the afterlife, as you know.”

The first genuine laugh in months erupts from her throat, catching her so off-guard that she almost doesn’t recognize that it came from herself. Lexa looks at her with a solemn expression, “What is it?”

“It’s just - never mind I can explain it later.”

Lexa looks up at her with a small smile, “Okay. Later works well.”

Clarke gives her some room to fully adjust her pants and after debating for a moment she presses forward to give her a soft kiss. “I’m going to go find Indra and see if she needs me for anything.”

“I’m sure she would enjoy that.”

There’s a rare teasing tone to her voice and Clarke smiles to herself as she leaves the tent. She looks over her shoulder one last time and enjoys a final moment to watch Lexa privately compose herself before leaving to greet her people.

(She can start to feel flowers sprouting from the roots that have taken up the empty space inside of her. 

She is alive.)


End file.
